Page 71 of Be Your Anything
Looking back, that’s a ridiculous conversation to have with an eight-year-old, but a part of me is thankful she was willing to talk with me about that back then. I’ve always chosen to project a certain image to the world, and that’s something I’m in charge of. Regardless of what my family thinks, I get to present the faceIwant.
Sometimes, a mask is what you need to project the right image, but sometimes you wear it to hide how you truly feel. Tonight, I need the mask to make sure I don’t reveal too much.
I’m uncorking the bottle of wine when there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in!” I shout.
Maybe not the most elegant or gracious, but I’m not Audrey Hepburn, no matter how hard I try.
When Lucas comes around the corner from the front door, I nearly drop my glass of wine.
He’s absolutely devastating.
Over the years, I’ve seen Lucas wearing just about everything, from tuxedos to sports gear to a pair of superman undies in a high school prank. This look, which he wears fairly often, is by far my favorite of them all.
His shaggy blond hair is disheveled in a way only men can pull off and probably took him all of five seconds. He has a bit of stubble growing on his strong jaw, and he wears an off-white Henley with the sleeves pushed up and dark wash jeans. It’s a basic look that requires no effort, but him at his most simple and most basic is the version of him that I love.
“Hey,” he says, walking across the hardwood, his beautiful blues focused on me.
“Hey, yourself,” I reply, taking a sip of my wine, mask firmly in place.
Lucas’ expression changes as his eyes rake hungrily over my body, stopping on my boots, a little smirk playing on the corners of his lips. He says nothing, though, instead moving around the kitchen island to the glass and bottle of whiskey I set out for him a moment ago. He takes his time, pouring a glass for himself and taking a long sip.
“Have a good day?” I ask, my finger tracing slowly around the rim of my glass.
He nods, though he doesn’t speak. Just stands there, holding his drink, his eyes taking a lazy journey along my curled hair, my exposed skin, locking onto my boots.
“So…what did you want to talk to me about?”
Lucas doesn’t say anything. He just takes a deep breath, lets it out, and then lifts his glass of whiskey to take another lengthy sip.
“Or did you maybe not come here to talk?”
At my question, I can see the effect my words have on him, can see the ripple effect in his body.
His eyes narrow, his nostrils flare, his jaw tenses. The hand on his glass flexes and he shifts in place, almost like it’s taking restraint to stand still.
I step around the island and walk towards him, my steps much more confident than I actually feel. I might not have control of Lucas’ heart, but I do know how to control his lust. If he’s going to call things off with me, I’m going to make him ache for me first, remind him how good we are together.
Once I’m in front of him, I loop a finger into his front pocket and give it a little tug.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here, Mr. Pearson,” I say, my voice dropping to that sultry tone I know makes him hard.
His eyes turn molten, roaming over my face and down my chest, taking in everything he can see.
“Did you and my dad have fun playing golf today?”
Lucas’ eyes narrow and then he gives me a smirk, his normal reaction when he’s taking the second or two he needs before fully understanding the game I’m playing.
“We did,” he says. Then his hand comes up, takes some of my hair between his fingers. “He didn’t mention you, though. I would have remembered if he told me he had a daughter, especially one as sexy as you.”
I giggle and bite my lip. “Mr. Pearson, you think I’m sexy?”
Lucas lets his eyes rake over my body like I’m a feast and he’s a man on the verge of starvation. He steps towards me and takes me by the wrist, pressing my hand into his erection, then leans down and whispers in my ear. “You’re the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
I grip him lightly and he lets out a low moan. “I don’t know if we should be doing this,” I reply, my hand continuing to rub him up and down through his jeans. “If my dad finds out, he’ll stop paying for college and…”
“Shhhh.” His other hand slithers around my waist and pulls me tight against him, my hand getting trapped between us. “If you’re a good girl, I promise he’ll never find out.”
